Louise Rennison - ‘…startled by his furry shorts!’

I miss seeing Dave the Laugh, actually, but I don’t feel I can call him. I still don’t know what he meant about me not getting it about me and him. Get what?

I thought he said we were only young once and we must blow our horns.

Does he mean he only wants to blow my horn?

Oo-er.

No he can’t mean that.

Can he?

When Masimo said he would let me know in a week, I wonder if that’s a week boy time or week girl time? If a girl says a week, that’s what she means, but a boy’s week could mean anything. It’s like when I say “s’later” to the Ace Gang, that’s what I mean – see you later. But when a boy says “s’later” it could mean “you’re dumped”.

Oh, this is sooooo boring. I’m going out to the park to practise my pretend confident walking where I have got room to really swing my arms. I’ll see if it works and anyone thinks I’m confident.

Here we are. So, shoulders back, swingy arms, walking, walking and swing, swing. Feet directly in front of me in a straight line. Make my hips go from side to side. This is a well known boy-entrancing movement. Swing, swing, hip, hip. Aaah yes, this is working, I am feeling very confident. Hello, tree, I am vair vair confident. Head up.

And that’s when I saw Dave the Laugh ambling along with his mates. I hadn’t seen him since the “what if we should have really been together” incident. Oh, please let him be normal and not ignorez-vous me. He saw me and looked across the road, just looking, not smiling. Oh no. This was awful. He didn’t want to be my mate any more. I felt a bit like crying.

But then he shouted across, “ Ciao , Georgia. Ho due gatti e un maialino! ”

I said, “What?”

He shouted, “I thought you luuurved the Pizza-a-gogo language. I thought you loved Italian blokes. You know, all that handbags at dawn, ‘Ooh, have you seen my lovely trousers?’ sort of thing. ‘Ooo, don’t let the rain spoil my hair.’”

Oh dear, he was going to be mean to me and hold a grudge and so on. He was going to be Dave the Unlaugh. But then he smiled at me. He has ever such a nice smiley smile. I was so relieved. I smiled back, and I didn’t even rein in my nostrils, I was so pleased we were friends. He didn’t come over or anything, though, he just went walking on with his mates. Then he called back, “Oy, missus, you don’t know what I said to you in Pizza-a-gogo-ese, do you?”

I said, “Er, yeah.”

And he said, “You don’t.”

“I might.”

“Yeah, you might, but you don’t. I said, ‘I have two cats and a small pig.’”

“That’s a lie.”

He said, “Is it, though?”

What is he on about?

Then he tapped his nose. “See you Friday at the MacUseless rehearsal. Get your pants ready for action!”

Cheeky cat.

Still, he was sort of friendly, so maybe he still likes me. I hope he still likes me.

I still don’t know what he meant about what if you liked someone and let them go.

Does he really mean me and him?

Is he saying he would like to go out with me as my proper boyfriend?

Why would he say he has two cats and a small pig?

Boys are without doubt a complete and utter mystery.

And that is le fact.

Without doubtosity.

Oscar was outside his house. He was doing keepie-uppie, listening to his personal stereo and casually eating a Mars bar at the same time. He said, “All right?” in what he fondly imagines is a cool way.

But he took his eye off the ball and it went over the wall. He pretended he had meant to do it by falling to his knees and going, “Yesssss!” like he had scored a goal.

What is the matter with boys?

How disgusting is this? Mum said Angus has eaten her tights and that if I see them poking out of his bum-oley, I must pull them out!

I said to her, “Mum, are you so short of tights that you will wear some that have been in Angus’s bum-oley?”

And she said, “No, I just want to strangle him with them.”

She is a vair violent and unreasonable person.

I am using positive thinking and swinging my arms around a lot as I make up an acceptance speech for when the Luuurve God says he wants to go out with me.

OK, this is my acceptance speech: “Aah, Masimo, what a lovely surprise to see you— Owwww, you furry freak!!!”

That isn’t the speech. Gordy just leaped off the wardrobe and used my head as a landing pad so he didn’t have to hurt his feet leaping straight on to the floor.

Anyway, on with my acceptance speech: “Aah, Masimo, che bella sorpresa ! What a nice surprise to see you this…” Hang on, what is Italian for “this evening”? This nightio? That can’t be right – he’ll think I am talking about my jimjams for some reason. I’ll look it up later in my Italian for Complete Fools book. Anyway, on with the acceptance speechio: “Oh, you would like me to be your girlfriend? Well, that would be mucho bello . Grassy arse.”

Short and to the point; I think that is the key.

Had a dream about Masimo last night, only he wasn’t speaking in a nice Pizza-a-gogo land accent; he was saying things like, “That is well good” and “Shut it, my son”. And most alarmingly he was in a band called the Blunder Boys. I was at the gig and he came over to me and said, “Get your tracksuit top, you’ve pulled.” And as we rode off on his scooter, he started singing, “The Funky Moped” by Jasper Carrot. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat. What can it mean?

How long can this torture go on? On one hand the days seem very very long, like creeping along snaily days; on the other hand it’s only a matter of hours until Friday. How many hours exactly? Well, it’s 6:00 p.m. now, so that means plus six tonight and then plus twenty-four for tomorrow, and then… er, well, what time will he phone on Friday? Will he count from the hour he told me he would tell me in a week’s time? I would. It was 5:45 p.m. last Friday when he told me, so a week would be 5:45 p.m. this Friday. But you never know with boys. What if he counts it from when he got home? Would that be 6:15 p. m? Or maybe he didn’t go straight home; maybe he went to the shops and got a few nibbly things, then bumped into someone, so he didn’t actually get home until 8:00 p.m. Oh God.

Phoned Jas in sheer desperadoes.

“Jas, do you think he will phone me or come round?”

“Erm, I dunno.”

“Yeah, but what do you think? What would you do if you were going to tell me whether you wanted to go out with me?”

“Er… but I don’t want to go out with you. I would just tell you. In fact, I am just telling you now.”

“Jas, you are being what is technically known as a fool.”

She of course, classically, immediately for no reason, got the megahump. But I was in no mood for her humps. I said, “What does Tom think?”

She said, “Hang on, I’ll ask him.”

Good grief, are they joined at the hip?

She came back a few mins later and said, “Tom says he will do a bit of detective work and see if he can find out anything.”

I said thanks, but in my heart of hearts I don’t know if letting Radio Jas find out things is the best foot forward. Too late now.